Maudie at PokerWorks

Saturday I was visited by the Cox Cable-man. No double entendre there. I was really visited by the Cox Cable-Man. My cable internet had been going in and out (okay, eyes front - stop that snickering - back to the classroom, please) all week keeping me off the internets except for work and my trusty ‘lil iPhone.

The connection seems to be hunky-dory so it may be my modem and I could’ve bought one through the Cox Cable-Man for seventy bucks or I could buy one from, oh say, Wal-Mart for twenty bucks cheaper. Totally up to me either way. I decided to live dangerously and stick with the current modem until it dies for good.

I’m loyal that way.

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A brief side-note: I’m glad to be here. Twenty four hours ago I was doubting that possibility due to a head that was ringing like I’d just left the bell tower Notre Dame at high noon and a body that was barely responding to the futile commands of my brain.

I don’t know what it was - but for two days, well, let’s just say that particular hell I’m not eager to return to any time soon. Today, I’m wondering if I imagined it. Perfectly normal and ready to head on.

And where am I heading?

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He was young. He was sweet faced. He was a virgin.

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“Two cards are dealt to everybody and then three cards go in the middle. Those three cards are in everybody’s hand. There’s a round of betting and then another card is dealt to the middle, another round of betting and then the final card in the middle. You make your best hand with five out of the seven cards.”

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“She’s good luck, she made me eighty thousand dollars today.”

“She” was a too tanned, freshly manicured bruntette leaning against the back of his chair and motor-mouthing about real-estate, horse trading and “I kin sell anything - yew name it, I kin sell it. Buy it an’ sell it fer more.” She wasn’t his wife, we knew that much.

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Gus Hanson strolls into the room, attempting his best imitation of Phil Laak as he peeks out from under the hood of his sweatshirt. Antonio Esfandiari looks over his shoulder at him and groans “LDP, fellas, LDB - Lock Down Poker.”

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There are two perks I really like about the Riverwind Casino here in my fair city - one is the ability to call ahead and get on a list for a table, the other is free valet parking.

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Another month has rolled by and as I’ve become wont to do, it’s time for a review of the Maude’s bankroll. In short, it’s pretty pathetic. The long version - it’s pretty pathetic.

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Struggling to keep myself together, to shut out a cacaphony of distraction around me, I called a raise from the semi-mulletted fellow two seats to my right. The flop was as ragged as my nerves. I was still reeling from a beat a few hands earlier so passively allowed the flop to go check, check. A seven appeared on the turn and, checked to me, I tossed a big bet in. My tatooed opponent, called. River card I don’t remember. Action I don’t remember. I only remember this - I flipped over my pocket sixes, and he flipped over seven-deuce. The ever lovin’ goddam favorite of poker bloggers certain-to-tilt-Ghandi himself hammer.

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You might surmise by the title of this post that I’m about to launch into a routine of “Who’s On First.” If you were to surmise such a thing, you would be wrong. Although I can boast of a third place win with a partner in a talent contest year’s ago with our rendition of the famed Abbot & Costello duet, this post isn’t about that.

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